


Johnny Jaqobis and the Idol-o-Many-Hands

by nic



Category: Killjoys (TV)
Genre: Hijinks & Shenanigans, Space Pirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 21:52:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17030667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nic/pseuds/nic
Summary: A warrant.  An idol.  And a chance to go undercover...as a space pirate!  What could go wrong?





	Johnny Jaqobis and the Idol-o-Many-Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hardlygolden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardlygolden/gifts).



There was something crawling on his head.

Johnny opened one eye and instantly regretted it. That tiny motion hurt way more than it should. Actually, his entire body (what he could feel of it, anyway) hurt more than it should. His ears were ringing and the last thing he remembered was yelling to Dutch to get down before the explosion….

…the explosion. Which may or may not have been his fault. How was he supposed to know that the rare and very exclusive drink from the vineyards of the powerful Lucada family was actually highly flammable? And that D’av would choose that exact moment to cause the distraction which resulted in the hired goons representing the Kushundi buyers deciding that Johnny’s head would be a good place to throw the bottle at, upon which he ducked, and he knew he really shouldn’t have provoked them but not only had they insulted him, and Dutch, but they had also insulted  _Lucy_  and that was pretty much unforgivable in Johnny’s book and Dutch was going to kill him for blowing their cover.

Groaning, he lifted his head. The room was dark and although the scent of soot lingered on his own body, the air was oddly musty and warm. He heard skittering in the distance, probably more of the local bugs that seemed to make their way into everything, even prison cells.

Or airtight vaults. As he pulled himself into a sitting position and retrieved a light hidden in his jacket, he realised exactly where he was. The one place they’d been trying to break into the past day; the impenetrable, well-guarded vault that contained the priceless art pieces that had drawn so many of the Quad’s rich and powerful to this one location.

And when money was involved, well, the difficultly level for a warrant could suddenly escalate beyond what they were prepared to deal with.

Especially when their cover was blown.

And it was all Johnny’s fault.

 

SEVEN DAYS EARLIER

“Johnny.” The voice in his ear was calm, soothing, insistent. “Johnny. Johnny, wake up.”

He rolled over and tugged the bed cover higher, trying to block out the voice. The ever-persistent Lucy would not be thwarted. “Johnny, I found something.”

“Can’t it wait ‘til morning, Luce?” he mumbled. He peeked a look at the time – it was far too late (or too early, depending on your point of view) to be conscious.

“This is one of your long-running deep searches, and you instructed me to tell you right away if I found something. Even if you were asleep, or in the shower, or in-flag…”

“Okay, okay,” he mumbled. “I know what I said. So, what did you get a hit on?” He was already turning over a couple of possibilities in his head and regretting his past choices, because  _no_  warrant was worth disturbing his precious sleep.  He’d set up a lot of those searches in the early days with Dutch, when he was young and eager to impress her and prove what an amazing partner he could be. These days, well, she  _knew_  how awesome he was and they had plenty of work so there really wasn’t so much of a need to rush and-

“Johnny, I found the Idol-o-Many-Hands.”

“Shit.” And he promptly fell out of bed.

\---

“Rise and shine, beautiful people!” Johnny called, dancing around as he threw a pancake into the air. Dutch poked her head into the kitchen with a bemused look on her face. D’av wasn’t up yet but Johnny knew that the smell of bacon would soon draw him in.

“You’re cooking?” She swiped a roll that had been set aside and sniffed it cautiously. “Smells great, but what’s the occasion?”

Johnny gave her his most winsome smile. “Can’t a guy decide to treat his very best friend to a fantastic breakfast once in a while?”

“He can, but he usually wants something,” Dutch shot back.

Running his eyes blearily, D’avin wandered in. “You? Cooking breakfast?”

“Hey!” Johnny protested. “I cook!”

“But not this early-” began D’avin.

“And not for us,” Dutch finished.

Shaking his head at them, Johnny said, “There’s no love around here! No trust!” He finished plating the meals and presented them before continuing, “You’re right, I do have some news. I got us a new warrant!”

“Is that all?” asked D’avin, shovelling a pile of food into his mouth.

Dutch was a little more suspicious, her eyes narrowing as Johnny brought up the details. The picture was old with poor resolution, showing a craggy-faced man who could have been any age from thirty to his mid-sixties. “This is Lamar Kriese. Part of the underground weapons trading circuit, never attracted much attention until he double-crossed the wrong person.”

Looking closer at the holo, Dutch said, “This warrant is 12 years old!”

“So?”

“So how do we know if it’s even still valid?”

“It’s still in the system, isn’t it?”

Lucy jumped in here. “I can confirm, Dutch, that this warrant is still valid.”

“It’s only level 3. Why this one? And how did you even come across it?” She was eyeing him suspiciously, so Johnny quickly focussed back on his cooking.

“Let’s just say it’s a matter of … of… pride.” He dropped the salt. “One of the oldest warrants on the books, the stuff no one looks at… but think of the prestige! Bringing in one of the unsolvables!”

D’avin at least looked mildly interested in this. “So why now?” he asked. “You got a tip or something?”

And this was when Johnny could come into his own. “As a matter of fact, I have. You see, there’s been no trace of Lamar in a long time. Not since before that warrant was posted. He dropped out of sight completely and rumour was he was dead.”

“But he’s not dead.” Leave it to D’avin to state the obvious.

Dutch was continuing to scan the details, saying, “Last known sighting was way out in the J. What makes you think he’s here?”

This was where Johnny’s eyes started to sparkle. “He’s the last of the Lamar family.”

Lucy elaborated further. “The family tree was once extensive but accidents and mysterious disappearances befell them all. Once wealthy, the Lamars were both purveyors and collectors of rare artefacts, however it is believed that the family fortune was lost. Over the years, the majority of the family’s art pieces have shown up on the black market, or suddenly appeared in the collection of a wealthy adversary.”

“All of them except for one particular golden statue, kind of an idol,” Johnny continued. He rubbed his hands gleefully. “There’s an exclusive art auction on Leith next week. Underground stuff, very exclusive; only the very wealthy are invited and one of the items just listed is…”

“The idol,” chorused Dutch and D’avin.

“Bingo!” He gave them both a celebratory glass of hokk. “So we get ourselves an invitation, get ourselves an Idol, and get ourselves our man.”

\---

 Of course, it was Dutch who wanted to pose as the wealthy art dealer. Even though it was Johnny’s score. And D’avin kept insisting that it was his turn to mingle with the rich and powerful instead of pretending to be the hired muscle, to which Johnny, Dutch  _and_  Lucy all agreed was an emphatic No!

“I’m just pointing out that it’s far more believable that I could be a wealthy, bored, lady of Leith who spends her time socialising with the aristocracy,” Dutch insisted, deliberately looking away from Johnny’s puppy-dog expression. “I’ve done it before and you know I’m good at it.”

“But I have the most amazing backstory worked out!” countered Johnny. “Captain Turner, wealthy purveyor of rare goods, from the far side of the J who travelled all this way just to get a look at the rare artefacts never offered for auction before!”

“Sounds like a good way to get robbed, if you ask me,” said D’avin.

“No one asked you,” chorused Johnny and Dutch, who were at least in agreement on that.

Johnny gave Dutch his most winning smile. “You could play my beautiful assistant…intelligent, deadly, and an expert in- “

“You might not want to finish that sentence, little bro.”

In the end, Johnny won, and Dutch agreed to help him put together a fabulous costume. With a cape. And extra eyeliner. Okay, the truth was, he had always secretly wanted to be a pirate and this was as close as he was going to get. And although he’d never refer to Dutch as his pirate wench he couldn’t help but secretly think that her presence would only enhance his charade. (She would kill him if she knew.)

\---

“Ahoy there!” Johnny tipped his hat at the doorman before swishing his cape behind him.  “I heard there be treasures to acquire here!”

Dutch subtly poked him in the side.  “Forgive my employer,” she said sweetly. “He gets a little excited sometimes.  I have our invitation right here.”  She showed the doorman the forgery and they were ushered through into the next room where they were scanned, the documents re-examined, and they were provided lockboxes to store their weapons.

“For the safety of everyone, you understand,” and Johnny placed his sword into the box with a sigh.  It was purely decorative, of course, but they couldn’t afford to start an argument with the staff even before they made it to the main event.

The first day of the auction involved viewing the items – well, not the items themselves, but holographic representations of them (since all the actual items were in the vault), schmoozing with art dealers and potential buyers and getting a read on the competition.  And, if they were lucky, catching sight of Lamar himself.

They wandered into the crowd, their outfits not quite as eye-catching as Johnny had hoped.  Dutch of course looked resplendent in a well-cut dress that both showed off her figure and allowed her to fight without too much restriction.  (The skirt could be torn off in an emergency; but it had convenient slits down the side that showed off her boots.)  She’d even smuggled a weapon or two past the scanners although Johnny still wasn’t sure how she’d managed to fit them underneath her corset.

His own outfit consisted of his favourite leather pants, a ruffled shirt decorated with a fabulous belt, and of course, the cape, which he swung over his shoulder at every opportunity.  The other patrons were equally exquisitely dressed in all manners of finery.  “Ah, the artistic crowd,” he heard someone sigh with satisfaction.  “These are the people I belong amongst!” 

Sensing an opportunity, Johnny walked up to the man and said, “I completely agree!  Fashions of the Quad are so boring these days, everyone trying to be so….”

“So normal!” answered the man.  “Cyrano Jones; wonderful to meet you.  And you are…?”

“Captain Turner, and this be my assistant Miss Swann.”

“Assistant, you say?” said Cyrano and gave Dutch a lecherous look.  “I bet she’s quite the assistant in….” and then he yelped.

Dutch gave him an apologetic look.  “Was that your foot I stepped on?”

Turning red, Cyrano turned back to Johnny.  “Ahem.  As I was saying, there’s quite the crowd here and quite the display of wonderful pieces!”  He took a big gulp of the drink in his hand.  “Is there anything in particular you have your eye on?”

His eyes shining, Johnny launched into a tale of wanting the rare coins from a suspected ancient civilisation and an antique Qreshi painting.  It wouldn’t do to tip their hand too early, but he wanted to get a read on the crowd.  “Do ye’ think I have a chance with those?” he asked, dropping back into his authentically-practiced pirate accent.  “What be the most popular items here?”

Cyrano listed several items while Dutch stepped away, pretending to inspect some of the displays of items up for auction but instead listening in on other conversations.  “I heard the Idol-o-Many-Hands is here but it doesn’t appear in the guide.” 

Cyrano chuckled at the statement, a gleam in his eyes. “I would love to get my hands on that one!”

Johnny asked, “Oh really? And why is that?”

Suddenly looking at the ceiling, Cyrano backpedalled. “Oh, just because of the name, you know.  A fun little throwback piece, probably not even worth the gold it’s made from, but I’d love to have it on the mantle at home!” He gulped more of his drink.  “Of course, I’m not just here to buy.”  A glint appeared in his eye as he said, “I have several rare paintings that the most discerning of art collectors would love to have!  One being the “Mists of Avenue”, the only surviving replica of an ancient painting from 2000 years ago.”  He tapped a nearby panel and brought up an image.  “Isn’t she beautiful?”

“That she is,” Johnny agreed.  “But don’t you feel nervous, with the painting out of your sight?” He pretended to study the painting in more detail.  “I’m not sure I’d be brave enough to part with something of that value, even here.”

Cyrano chortled.  “My friend, you haven’t seen the vault, have you.” He didn’t wait for Johnny to respond before he continue.  “It’s ten levels down, protected by biosensors and automated weapons, a ton of steel, and a complicated algorithmic lock that only the auctioneers have access to!”

“Ah, but how do you know you can trust the auctioneers?”

 At that, a strangled look came across Cyrano’s face.  “What?  But they had been vetted!”   He stared at Johnny closely.  “What, do you know something?  Is my painting safe?”

Johnny just took a step back and shrugged.  “I’m sure it’s safe.  You don’t have anything to worry about.”   A pause.  “Really.”

Cyrano wasn’t convinced.  “Well, my friend, it as very good to meet you.  Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some pressing business to attend to.”  And with that, he scurried away.  Johnny watched him as far as he was able, the unobtrusively contacted D’avin.  “Portly guy in purple robes is headed to the vault.  Follow him and see what you can learn.”

Sometimes, it was all too easy.

Dutch sidled up to him, saying, “I hope that was productive.  Now where’s Lamar?”

“What?”

She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes.  “Lamar.  The warrant.  The real reason we’re here?”  It was obvious she knew that wasn’t the truth, and Johnny swallowed hard. 

“Right.  Lamar.  Cyrano didn’t know anything, but I sent D’av to check out the vault.  That’s where I’d be if I were him.  Protecting my investment.  Right?”

She sighed, then linked her arm with his.  “Well, Captain Turner, if that’s the way we’re going to play it, then I would like to be treated with the respect that your consort deserves.”  She strode forward, dragging him deeper into the crowd, headed for the one place in the room where tongues would be looser and leads gained. 

“You want me to buy you a drink.”

“I want you to buy me a drink,” she agreed.  She gave him a winsome smile.

He knew her so well.

\---

Several hours later, the meeting of sophisticated art dealers had turned into a raucous party, D’avin confirmed that the vault was locked up tighter than the RAC, there was still no sign of their mark and Johnny found himself in a very drunken argument with a couple from Uleth.

“I’m saying, _Captain_ ,” and she made it sound like an insult, “that there’s no way even a quarter of the items here are originals, and it takes an eye far more discerning than yours to tell the difference!”

Slamming his drink onto the table in protest, Johnny declared, “Trust me, my ladies, Captain J, er, Captain Turner, knows his fakes from his reals!”

“Oh really?” whispered the other woman.  “Then why don’t you place a bid on the _Sharknado_ while the price is still low?  It’s definitely the most valuable piece here!”

Should he bid?  He could bid.  Five, maybe ten.   Enough to keep the ruse going.  All he had to do was drop his thumbprint right onto the waiting pad….

“Captain!  There you are!”  Dutch grabbed his arm at the last possible second.  “Excuse me ladies, but I need my captain to come and defend my honour.”

  
“What are you doing?” he hissed as she dragged him away.  “I was finally getting somewhere!  Gaining their trust! Another few minutes and they would’ve agreed to take me to the vault!”

“Oh, and is that where Lamar is?” Dutch said wryly.

“Well he’s definitely not here.”  Gesturing at the room, Johnny noticed that it seemed to be spinning a bit, or maybe he was having trouble keeping his balance.

They found a quiet corner, somehow.  “D’avin?” Dutch spoke softly, hoping the other man could receive the transmission.  “No luck yet and Johnny’s got himself a bit too into character.”

“Hey!” he protested.  “I’m just mixing with the locals!”

He couldn’t hear D’avin’s response, but Dutch’s face told him all he needed to know. 

“Look, we need to create a distraction.  Something.  Draw Lamar out.”

“Something with cannons?  I like cannons!”

“No, not with cannons, D’avin, just ignore him, but actually, that might be a good idea….”

Johnny grinned.  Sometimes, thinking like a pirate was the way to go.  He scanned the room again as Dutch and D’avin discussed their next steps.  He really should place an initial bid on something, or at least register his interest.  Something to maintain their cover as serious collectors of art.  Maybe he could get a mermaid figurehead for Lucy.  Surely, she wouldn’t mind a new decorative attachment or two?

“Ahoy, pirate boy!”  The Kashundi buyers waved Johnny back to the bar, one holding up a drink for him.  He certainly wasn’t going to refuse that.  After several minutes of friendly insults over whose ship was bigger, one of the men leaned close and asked, “So how much for your wench?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your assistant.  Now, I know you probably don’t like to share, but I can offer you a good price.”  He laughed uproariously.  “That’s what we’re here for, right?  Let the bidding commence!”

“Bidding on what?”  Dutch’s voice was icy; it was clear she’d heard the whole thing.

The man patted her on the head (and Johnny winced; it wasn’t going to end well for him).  “Never trouble your pretty little head, girly.  I’m talking to your Captain here.”

“Well, my _Captain_ ,” she said, a steely tone in her voice, “is the only man permitted to take…liberties…with me.” 

And with that, she moved in close to Johnny.  Edged her legs between his, ran one hand down his cheek.  He shuddered.  Yeah, Dutch was his best friend, but she was also an incredible, capable woman, and when she looked at him like that, well, he would have to be dead to not have some kind of reaction.  She leaned in closer, ghosting her breath on his neck, moving up to his ear as she whispered, “So, Johnny, do I leave it up to you to defend my honour, or are you going to tell me…”  And she paused, letting her hand run down his chest while the watching men continued to make catcalls.

“Tell you w- what?”  He knew he had to keep his eye on the three men, but it was getting impossible to concentrate with her so close. 

“Tell me exactly what’s in that vault?”

Her teeth nipped his ear and he knew that she could kill him in an instant.

“I, uh….”   The Kashundi buyers were whooping as one moved closer to Dutch and it was at that exact moment that D’avin’s distraction exploded and all hell broke loose.

\---

He was in the vault. 

Johnny could’ve laughed if his head didn’t hurt so much.  And he was worried about Dutch.  Sure, she could take care of herself, but he didn’t understand why he was the one dumped in here when she had been right there, unless she was dead, but that wasn’t possible because he would _know_ , so the only way to salvage this situation was to salvage the exact artefact he’d come for.

The Idol-o-Many-Hands.

It gleamed there in the darkness. 

He’d dreamed of this moment ever since he was a boy, watching tales of pirates and treasure.  Hearing whispers of real treasure, following the electronic trails, setting up deep searches and keywords with Lucy and just hoping that someday, it could be his.

And now it was.  Almost reverently, Johnny approached it.  It was half his height, a sneering face carved on a central golden cylinder, with fifteen arms protruding out in all directions.  It was possibly the ugliest thing Johnny had ever seen but that didn’t cause him to love it any less.  “Come to papa,” he whispered, picking it up.

The door to the vault burst open.

“Yes, that’s him!”  It was Cyrano, babbling excitedly to… Lamar?  “That’s the man I told you about, the one that’s here to steal your idol!”  The man stepped menacingly into the vault, followed by at least four hired muscle. 

Gulping, Johnny brandished the idol in front of him.  “Stay back!” he warned.  “Or I’ll…”

At that moment, a blast singed past Lamar’s head; Dutch crashed through the ceiling with her guns blazing, and D’avin yelled out to Lamar that he was surrounded and may as well give up now.  That didn’t stop the goons springing into action, firing back, as Cyrano huddled in the corner and Lamar lunged for Johnny and Johnny had no choice but to defend himself and swing the idol…hard.

And then it was quiet.

Still.

Everyone (who was conscious) holding their breath as D’avin strode into the vault like a conquering hero.

“Lamar Kriese?  You are locked and served.”

Well, at least D’avin was happy.

\---

“I’m sorry, Johnny,” Lucy said quietly.  “I know how much that idol meant to you.”

There hadn’t been much left in the end.  Not after the firefight and the fistfight and the roof crumbling in on the rest of the vault.  There had been a lot of unhappy buyers (but unsurprisingly, the sellers weren’t too fazed, as most of the items had been fakes after all).

The Idol hadn’t been a fake.

Johnny sat there with his head in his hands. 

“You should’ve told me,” said Dutch.  She placed an apologetic hand on Johnny’s arm.  “I would’ve been more careful if I knew that was what you really wanted.”

“Hey, we still got the warrant!” D’avin reminded them all.

Dutch shot him a _look_.

Johnny’s shoulders were shaking, and he glanced up, seeing the one remaining hand of the idol on the control panel in front of him.  One tiny memento of his life’s search.  One reminder of how long he’d dreamed and how in the end…

…he couldn’t hold it in any more and turned around to face his friends, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“What?”

“It wasn’t about the warrant,” he laughed.  “And it wasn’t about the idol, either.” Johnny reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny, tarnished microchip.  “You see, I didn’t tell you the whole story about the idol and why so many people wanted it.”

“The Lamar family used to be rich,” Dutch realised, “but no one could ever account for where it went.”

Johnny was nodding.  “Because they buried it.  No one knew where, but rumour was they made a map.  And hid the map in the ugliest decoration they could, the last piece that anyone would ever steal….”

“Which is the last piece the family would ever manage to sell,” finished Dutch.  She actually looked impressed.  “But surely Lamar knew what he had?”

“How could he, when the rest of his family died years ago, and he was willing to sell it?” Johnny said.  “Give it enough time and the stories are forgotten.  Only kids and treasure hunters pay attention.”

“Well, I know which one you are.”  That was D’avin, never missing a chance to tease his brother.

Johnny didn’t mind.  Almost reverently, he plugged the ancient chip into the panel.  It sparked, but a fuzzy picture gradually emerged. A map.  A treasure map.

“Hey Lucy?” Johnny said, rubbing his hands together with glee.  “Let’s go treasure huntin’!”

 


End file.
